


Just one question

by hushedtones



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, honestly bones (and kirk) don't have an active role, it's pretty much just spock's internal monologue, spoilers for Star Trek: Beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:13:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hushedtones/pseuds/hushedtones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Spock thinks, despite himself, when Bones asks him: "What's your favorite color?"</p><p>Or in other words, Spock is stupid and oblivious and ridiculously in love with James Tiberius Kirk and will perform mental gymnastics to rationalize it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just one question

His favorite color...

Beyond the pain in his side, so close to his heart, Spock tried to retreat into his mind. He had trained in Vulcan traditions of meditation and closing off emotions. 

Bones asked for his favorite color. And then he yanked the jagged piece of foreign scrap from his abdomen and pressed red-hot metal into the wound. The pain turned seconds to eons. 

Vulcans didn't think like that, never asked such questions. Despite the fog of shock and pain, Spock was reminded of the human expression of seeing one's life flash before their eyes. He might not be entirely human, but in the split second after the question he did see flashes. Colors and memories. Gold--his hair, his uniform, the warm undertones of his skin. He was golden and warm, especially when the light of a new star reflected off of him as he spread his limbs comfortably in the captain's chair. 

Hazel, bright and clear and kind. Hazel eyes meeting his own, holding his gaze, taking and taking from him. Spock didn't understand how Kirk could do that, could understand so much in a glance when he himself struggled to parse out the myriad meanings and subtexts in Kirk's words. He didn't make things easy, he didn't like things to be easy. His eyes would crinkle with amusement at his own jokes, and he would turned to shed his attention, with all the warmth it contained, on Spock. 

_Another day in Starfleet_ , he had said. His shirt had ripped--again--and the blood from his injuries was a reminder of his humanity. His blood ran red, vividly, too bright. Kirk thrummed with passion, emotions, determination. Kirk bled too much. 

When the lights went dim to signify the arbitrarily designated "night" on the ship, Spock would always find Kirk turned the faintest blue from the viewscreen as the skeleton night crew bustled around him. Spock would know he hadn't slept his required hours, though he _doesn't_ know why. What kept James T. Kirk on the bridge. Was he running from sleep? Did he not trust Spock or Sulu or anyone else to captain the ship? Was he afraid?

Spock did not require as much sleep as a human, as Vulcans went into a deep meditation that provided them enough rest to last a long stretch of time, but when he would start to notice Kirk losing focus, if he stared for too long into the endless stretch of stars without blinking...well, Spock would make a show of leaving to rest. He knew humans were heavily influenced by modeling behavior, and felt relieved to see his captain end his reverie and join him on the way to their adjoining bunks. A relief to know his captain was not risking the mission with inadequate rest.

Spock might sneak a comment in about a human's strange need to lie down in a dark room for a third of the day, or commending Jim's talent for squirreling his way out of check-ups with the good Dr. Mccoy, but often they simply walked in silence. Soft footsteps, stolen glances. And Kirk's eyes would show dark purple shadows underneath, a feature that had developed gradually over the years of his captaincy. But Spock noticed the change. He was failing as a First Officer, and as a friend, if he had let this happen. 

Spock _had_ to pay attention to Jim. It was his job. It was his duty to memorize Jim, memorize the soft pink of a blush that spread across his face, learn to translate the complex language of his eyebrow quirks and minuscule smiles. All of Jim was locked away in his memory, he was there, he was safe-- 

Spock was brought back to the world with a scream--his own. He slowly started to regain awareness of other sensations: the bright light on his eyes, the water in his shoes (causing his socked feet to become uncomfortably wet). He gathered the resolve he needed to lift himself onto his elbows, which was only slightly more dignified and slightly less uncomfortable than lying down on the pod's wreckage. 

"It's supposed to hurt less if you're surprised," Bones tossed his rush-job tools and assessed Spock. His eyes missed nothing. Spock stifled his groans and attempted to move as naturally as possible. 

Spock didn't have a favorite color. The question was illogical. All colors were defined in relation to Jim, because Jim was in every color.

"Your theory, as you put it, is horse shit," he forced his voice to be even, but he was ashamed to hear his suppressed emotion. 

The slightest movement caused waves of pain to radiate from Spock's injury. He thought of Jim's eyes, his hair, his skin. Assessing their situation, he buried the pain and closed his mind off from everything except their mission. Find him, help him. 

The shard had almost pierced Spock's heart. The twinge he felt now in his lower left was not pain. It was deep and strong, an illogical certainty that Jim was safe.

_T'hy'la._

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time really writing a fic, but it was fun and I hope it's enjoyable to read! 
> 
> I kept Kirk's eyes hazel because TOS (and I feel like hazel suits Kirk's character better SHRUGS) (even though I love the cast for the movies, they are great).


End file.
